


Give Me Love

by tellmesomethingnew



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, Memory Loss, Out of Character, Revised Version, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8631367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesomethingnew/pseuds/tellmesomethingnew
Summary: Confused and scared with no memory except her name and age, Hermione wakes up in 1942. As she fights to get her memories back with the help of a strange boy by the name of Tom Riddle, it becomes clear that something sinister is lurking within the stone walls of Hogwarts.





	1. Wordless

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank ibuzoo, an old friend whom I would have never revised without. I want to apologize for my hiatus as I've been working on an original novel. Now to take a breather from it, I'm returning with revising my most prized Tomione fanfic, something that's definitely in need of work, and I hope it's better. If you'd like to keep up to date with new chapter postings and whatnot, feel free to follow me under the username tellmesomethingnew-shiverpass. I will be posting updates regularly on the revision process.

Fate was a cruel mistress that pulled her strings like a violin, hard and without mercy. Hermione didn’t know how she ended here, of all places, in the London metro. Without a specific destination to rush to, her white gown caught the dirt off of the polluted seats. She sat hunched over, face buried in her hands while the tip of her fingers dug deep into her brown curls, tugging on them in the process. Silent sobs were shocking her body and not even the gentle rocks of the train could help to calm her down.

The edges of her white bridal gown were stained with mud, her once-perfect satin heels were covered in the same.Her hair was falling from its delicate up-do into messy strains, the petite crystal tiara that sat at the very top of her head threatening to fall off. Unstoppable tears blurred her view, smudging her mascara until it sat in a fading stream down to her cheeks.

Hermione tried to focus on the lacy floral patter in her bodice, the sheerness of the skirt that was the main reason she had picked this dress to begin with, but nothing helped. _Nothing_.

Around her, a few people occupied the surrounding seats. A number of people kept to themselves with their headphones blasting music to deterthem away from the crying almost-bride. Others tried to avoid looking at her, though their eyes wandered to her every now and then as they tried to look occupied with empty hands or useless purses.

Trying to be as quiet as possible as to not attract even more attention as she already did when walking onto the train, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She bit down on her lip hard, welcoming the flash of pain shooting trough her body. She desperately wished that the ache would get her mind off the terrible mistake she had just made.

She had hurt one of her best friends, even went to the lengths of betraying him.

_I'm such a horrible person._

Her sobs subsided, her breath evened out, and she pulled her hands from her face hesitantly. They wereshaking, to the point that she felt more vulnerable than she had _ever_ felt in her life. She didn't know how to control herself.Never in her life had she been this aware of her own mistakes, aware that her life was this fucked up. She was cold, alone, and it was her own fault. She shouldn't have gotten close to _him_. She shouldn't have allowed herself to break the heart of her best friend. She never should have felt at all.

She turned her body partially around so that her eyes caught the reflection of her own sorrowful face in the mist-covered train windows. Her final destination was still uncertain, and she wished she could visit her parents to crawl away under the covers of her old bed, bury herself in her books and block anything painful out. _But they_ _held_ _no memories of me anymore and I_ _am_ _no_ _thing_ _more than a stranger to them._

She had nowhere to retract to but her flat in Diagon Alley, and thank goodness she still had her job at Flourish and Blotts with a little fortune safely stacked in Gringrotts on the side.

Her arms wrapped automatically around her slender, shaking frame, shielding and isolating her from the loneliness that hung around her like a thick, black cloud. She denied herself vehemently to see the silver lining on the horizon as soon as it arrived in eyesight.

Everything was _his_ fault, and _his_ alone. She would never forget him, the man who had shown her a world far beyond her imagination, a world her best friend forever failed to give her.

But it had to stop.

She needed to forget and move on, a clean break, a fresh start.

The train came to a jolting, screeching halt. Her hands were still shaking and she lifted her right one to wash away the mist on the grubby train window, nearly pressing her face against the glass to look out and see at which station they had arrived.

At least, she still had her memories.

But was this really a good thing?

* * *

**1: WORDLESS**

She didn't know where she was, or how she even came to be here. She tried to think, she honestly did...

 _My name is Hermione Granger, I'm seventeen years old, and I can't move_.

That was as much as she knew, and that scared her. Her heartbeat trampled through any noise available and she could feel it in her chest as she laid there, helpless and feeble. Her stomach knotted as she looked up to see a high stone ceiling.

“Oh goodness! You're awake!” She managed to hear a high-pitched female voice squeal. Hermione flinched, focusing on the voice over her own heartbeat. It was a voice filled with a strange mix of worry and relief. “It's a miracle you're alive!” the voice said next. Hermione felt the bed she was laying in dip, looking over at the young woman dressed in a nurse's uniform. It was a light gray dress with a crisp white apron atop it with a matching pointed hat.

She didn't recognize the woman and that made her panic further.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as her breathing increased into a rapid rhythm, looking around the room she was in for any help. A tear spilled down her cheek and slowed at her temple, the other falling down until it hit her tangled brown hair.

“Calm down dear, you're alright,” the woman assured her soothingly. Concern and a form of gentleness was splayed across her face as Hermione looked at her once again.

The woman couldn't have been older than thirty with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair pinned back under the white hat. Hermione was able to identify one thing, in the least. The woman's uniform seemed old-fashioned.

“Drink this, it will help sooth your nerves and feel wondrous on your throat,” she said, pulling a vial out from her apron's pocket.

It looked to be a bottled potion, from Hermione's assumptions. Inside was a light pink liquid with soft carbonized bubbles. The woman pulled the cork out from it and dipped the contents into Hermione's mouth. Hermione welcomed the cold liquid, swallowing it with a sore throat. In seconds, she felt her heart begin to slow down to its normal pace, and all her worries begin to fade.

She tried to sit up next. Maybe she had only thought herself to be paralyzed at first, but she was right. Her muscles didn't respond to her thoughts. _Sit up!_ She tried to speak next, opening her mouth and licking her dry, cracked lips. What came out was a strangled, dried whisper-like noise that sounded dreadful to her own ears.

“Try not to speak, dear. It will slow down the healing process,” the woman suggested, reaching over to a nightstand. Hermione's eyes followed the woman's hands, seeing her dip a dry cloth into a bowl and ringing it out. _Water_. The woman dabbed Hermione's forehead gently.

“Madam Promfrey?” came an elder's voice from the end of the room.

 _Pomfrey,_ Hermione thought. _Why does that sound so familiar?_

“Oh, Dippet! Come at once. She's awoken!” Madam Pomfrey sounded excited.

Hermione's eyes found the approaching male's face.

It was an old man, walking beside a somewhat younger man. He had an aged, wrinkled face and a scruffy white beard to match his long white hair, which seemed to have been pulled back somehow. She didn't recognize him at all. But she felt like she should recognize the man beside him, who had light auburn hair, just as long as the older man's. He wore half-moon spectacles and a beard that reached his stomach.

Her eyes traveled around the room again, eying the empty beds besides her and across the room. She saw the Cabinet of potions. It must have been an infirmary of some sort, like a hospital wing in a large building.

“My dear,” started the man called Dippet, “do you know who you are?”

“Dippet,” said the man next to him. “She's been through so much in the past twenty four hours. Surely you could give her some room.”

“Dumbledore's right. She can't speak yet anyhow,” agreed the woman called Pomfrey.

 _Dumbledore_. Her heart picked up in speed for a mere moment.

“She looks well enough to write in the least,” said Dippet as he looked at Hermione. Pomfrey sighed beside her and got up, motioning towards the space she had just been sitting in.

Dumbledore sat down instead of Dippet, pulling out a sheet of rolled up parchment. Pomfrey left, soon returning with an inkwell and pulled a quill from her pocket, handing both to Dumbledore. A tray of some sort had been sat down on Hermione's lap once Pomfrey helped sit her up, cushioning her back with various pillows to assure her comfort.

Hermione looked down at the piece of unrolled parchment and managed to move her arm, but weakly. She wanted to groan at the feeling it gave her, as if she hadn't move her arm in months and had lost all strength in the muscles.

Dumbledore, Dippet, and Pomfrey eyed Hermione warily.

“What is your name?” Dippet asked first.

Weakly, Hermione dipped the quill into the inkwell and wrote, “ _ **Hermione Granger**_.”

“A Muggle-born,” said Dumbledore quickly.

 _Muggle_... Why did that sound so familiar to her? She was drawing so many frustrating blanks that tears refilled her eyes once more and she began sobbing silently.

“Out, both of you. You're upsetting her!” Promfrey scolded, motioning her hands to shoo the two away.

But Hermione wanted answers, regardless of how upset she was that she needed them to begin with. She reached a weak hand she was surprised she could even move out and grabbed a hold of Dumbledore's arm, looking at him with pleading eyes to stay.

Dumbledore must have seen the words written in her eyes.

He looked at Dippet and then back to Hermione. “Do you know how you got here, Hermione Granger?” Dumbledore asked her. He had kind brown eyes that made her feel at ease, as if she were talking to a friend she had know for a while.

“ _ **Do you?**_ ” she wrote. Her handwriting was messy, sloppy, but readable.

Hermione watched Dumbledore furrow his eyebrows and shifted a bit. “No,” he answered. “You were found badly injured, Miss Granger.”

“How old are you?” Pomfrey asked for them.

“ _ **Seventeen**_.”

“So young,” Pomfrey commented as she looked down at Dumbledore and over at Dippet with a pitied expression. Her eyebrows were softly knitted together, a hand touching her lips as her brown eyes flashed with worry and pity.

Dumbledore got up and Hermione's eyes followed him. He stopped at the nightstand as he picked up what looked to be a wand. “This was found with you when one of our students found you in a hallway.”

Hermione's eyebrows rose, looking between everyone before she wrote down, “ _ **I'm in a school?**_ ”

“A school for witchcraft and wizardry,” Dippet responded. “The wand that was with you indicates that you're a witch.”

 _Witchcraft? Wizardry?_ In a sense, it seemed almost as if this was hysteric, a joke. And _that_ was what drove Hermione to suddenly burst into a fit of silent laughter, confused tears turned to laughing.

Everyone looked surprised at her mood swing as her laughter soon died down when the other part of her recognized this as apart of her life. She looked between everyone once more before she dipped the quill into the ink and wrote quickly, “ _ **A...** **witch** **?**_ ”

Hermione watched Dumbledore and Dippet exchange a look.

“It explains any possibility of why you're here, but not why you can't remember anything aside from your name and age.”

“Tests have showed no hereditary diseases or head trauma,” Pomfrey quickly answered. Hermione saw confusion on the woman's face.

The bushy grey eyebrows of Dippet pulled together as he looked up at Dumbledore, who was a full foot taller than him. “Dumbledore?” It was as if a man was asking his friend for advice.

The silence in the atmosphere led Pomfrey to push the two men out of the room. “She needs to finish healing,” she urged.

* * *

 

It had taken Hermione another vial of that light pink potion for her to fall asleep. Her head felt as if it were spinning between the potion's effects and all the questions running through her mind. It led her to restlessness where she'd sleep for an hour, wake up, take some time to fall back to sleep all within an endless cycle.

It must have been hours later when Hermione was trying her hardest to fall back to sleep, clearly exhausted, when voices reached her ears. Her eyes opened and she stared up at the high stone ceiling, listening closely.

“...she needs to be schooled,” said a familiar voice. It must have been Dippet's. “She's a witch.”

Confusion flooded Hermione. There was that word again, filling her with so many questions.

“Indeed. But what do we do about her current situation?” came another voice with concern. This one was female and unfamiliar, but sounded to be just as aged as Dippet's.

“The best we can do is wait for her to regain her memories,” said Dumbledore.

“But what if she doesn't get her memories back, Albus?” asked Dippet with a hysteric sense. He sounded pushy, worried, even stressed.

There was silence.

“There's no doubt her memories can be restored within time,” replied the woman after a while. “But how are we going to teach her six years of schooling, Professor? How do we know if she's ever been to an institution like this?”

“What about tutoring, Dippet?” asked Dumbledore.

“Surely that wouldn't hurt,” agreed the woman.

“She will need to be tutored every single day,” said Dippet warily. “Who in Merlin's beard would agree to that?”

“I know of someone,” Dumbledore quickly said. “Tom Riddle. He's the smartest individual Hogwarts has seen. Surely he would be best to help Hermione.”

 _Tom Riddle_.

Fear flooded her chest again followed with even more questions. The name was familiar, and she had no clue as to how or why.

The wing was silent now and Hermione had drifted back into her restless sleep.

* * *

Hermione's eyes opened when she could no longer sleep. Out of instinct she sat up, followed with a widening of her eyes. _I sat up on my own_. She wasn't paralyzed anymore – she was healed. To test just how far her healing had really went, she spoke.

“Hello?” she croaked. Her voice was weak and scratchy, but it was _there_ , no longer a mangled whisper.

Suddenly, the sound of heels clicking against the stone flooring filled Hermione's ears and Pomfrey turned up, coming into view.

“Miss Granger, you're up and well, thank goodness!” she said with an excited smile.

Hermione stifled a relieved smile.

"How are you feeling dear?” She asked as she put her hands on her hips and stood at the foot of the bed.

“Sore, but all in all, fine,” Hermione answered honestly. The only thing sore about her was her stiff neck and everything about her back and spine. Her legs felt cramped and she knew a long walk was needed.

“Do you want to try walking, dear?” Pomfrey soon asked kindly.

“Yes,” Hermione quickly answered with a smile as she grabbed the blanket that had been on top of her, pushing it to the foot of the bed with her feet gently. She swung her legs around until her socked feet touched the cold surface of the stone floor, looking down at herself and eying her clothes. A worn navy blue jumper over a faded pastel pink tee shirt with thick black leggings. She pushed herself to her feet, finding it a bit hard to keep herself from being so wobbly. Other than that, she was able to stand with ease. Pomfrey held out a hand and Hermione took it to keep herself steady. With ease, she took a few steps forward, regaining full feeling in her legs.

“You're able to walk, wondrous!” Pomfrey cheered as Hermione took a few more steps away from the bed and towards the middle aisle of the wing.

Just then, Dumbledore came walking through the opened double doors at the end of the wing. He wore a small smile, his eyes on Hermione. It was almost as if he knew she had awoken. How?

“You've healed, I see?” he asked when he finally reached Hermione.

Hermione let go of Pomfrey's hand after she found her balance and nodded her head.

“Do any of you know what happened to me?” she asked the moment available.

Dumbledore and Pomfrey exchanged a look before Pomfrey spoke for Dumbledore. “One of the Prefects had found you barely alive and brought you here. Your vocal and spinal chords were torn, somewhat mangled, nearly beyond repair. But given the correct potions and well-needed rest, you're perfectly fine again.”

“Who found me?” Hermione murmured.

“A boy named Tom Riddle. You'll be meeting him later,” said Dumbledore.

“So you see, you're all in good shape.” Pomfrey put her hand to Hermione's shoulder for a moment, giving off a warm and genuine smile.

“Except my memories,” Hermione added softly.

Pomfrey's warm smile faltered. “Except your memories.”


	2. The New Girl

Dippet's office was a peculiar place. It was dark and dusty, old and hardly touched, save for the shiny, dark mahogany desk Hermione sat before. Shelves covered every wall but the wall she entered through. Items of various sorts of things cluttered the shelves along with the books.

“House?” Hermione was leaning to the side of the chair she sat in, resting her one elbow on the armrest as she had her legs crossed. Her muscles were still weak from the time period of restoration, but she had been able enough to come here and meet with Dippet.

If anything, the walk here had been refreshing, more than the honesty that it exhausted her.

Dippet sat in a large thrown-like chair at the desk, his hands folded before him as he gazed at Hermione while Dumbledore stood beside him, a bowl in his hand and his jaw moving with the motion of chewing the candy from its contents.

“There are four houses, Miss Granger. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each acquires certain dominant qualities. Our Sorting Hat will know which one of your qualities is dominant for which house. Your house is like a...a family, if you would.”

While trying to comprehend this idea of a “house” at a school, all Hermione could really do was offer up a small smile to Dippet.

“Have I explained clearly enough?” Dippet asked as he raised his white eyebrows and leaned forwards on his desk with his hands folded before him like he had on his lap before.

Hermione nodded her head and watched as Dippet nodded towards Dumbledore. Her head turned and watched Dumbledore walk over to one of the book cases. He reached up on top, grabbing a very old-looking brown wizard's hat. With it in hand, he came back and gently placed it on top of Hermione's head.

What came next had been nothing Hermione was prepared for as a gasp escaped her when the hat _spoke_.

“Oh my dear,” the hat started in an old man's voice laced with concern and surprise. “Your power, determination, strength, and one-track mind make it quite obvious, though your courage and thirst for knowledge gives you a second option. Placing you in Slytherin would most certainly give you more room to accelerate in your education for all of this combined, Miss Granger.”

Hermione tried to remain still, unsure how exactly this hat was reading into her. Did it connect to her mind? Was it like a scanner? Or was it magic? Hermione looked between Dumbledore and Dippet, her eyes wide with confusion of everything combined. A talking hat, magical school, no memory...

“Slytherin then. How odd,” said Dumbledore with a hint of disappointment as he reached over and pulled the hat from Hermione's head. A few strands of her frizzy brown hair stood up from the connection of the hat once it was gone.

“Odd?” Hermione murmured as she focused her gaze on Dumbledore.

He nodded his head. “You don't...seem like you'd belong there. You come off more of a Ravenclaw or a Gryffendor to me,” Dumbledore explained as he walked over and put the hat back where he had gotten it from.

“Well the hat has spoken,” said Dippet. His voice suggested that he was trying to make light of the situation as he gave Hermione a beaming, kind smile. “Dumbledore, the girl must be hungry. If you would please, show her to the Great Hall? I'll make arrangements to get her school clothes and books in order. I'll have to obtain her wand from Madam Pomfrey.”

Hermione said nothing as she slowly, carefully rose to her feet, fearing that if she got up too soon, her head would start to spin with the mixture of hunger that began growling within her stomach from the mere mention of eating. At the suggestion of food, her stomach cried out as an encouragement.

“This way, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore as Hermione turned to find him near the exit. She took her time and followed him down the odd magical spiral staircase to the hallways.

The hair on Hermione's arms stuck up, as if something about this place was electric, exciting. Maybe it was exciting. But electric? No. Electric was just an understatement. _Magical_.

She followed Dumbledore down various hallways shaped in stone from ceiling to floor from turn to turn until they made it to a pair of large, tall wooden doors that looked to be five times as tall of her, maybe even more. Past the doors was a very large hall.

_The Great Hall_ , Hermione thought as she chewed at the corner of her lip, looking around and surveying the area. Five long tables filled the hall. Four faced one way way in the main part of the hall while in the very back, one long table facing the opposite way that appeared to be for the adults – professors. All tables were filled with students and platters upon platters of food. The smell of bacon, eggs, sausage, french toast, and pancakes hit her in the face like a cloud of smoke. Her stomach grumbled with jealousy as she watched students eat.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Dumbledore wave to someone, motioning whoever it was over to where they stood.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione watched as a pale boy with pitch-black wavy hair and dark eyes approach them. His eyes looked up at Dumbledore and for a moment, Hermione watched a look of respect cross over the boy's face.

“Professor Dumbledore?” the boy greeted. His voice was smooth and patronizing, familiar even.

“Tom, I would like to introduce you to our new student, Hermione Granger.”

This boy, Tom, looked over to Hermione. Discomfort spread through her veins as she felt him assessing her, his eyes sliding up and down her body and she could have _sworn_ she had seen a wry smirk in his eyes.

“Pleasure,” said Tom in the same patronizing voice. He extended a hand out towards Hermione for her to shake.

She nodded her head, forcing a small smile at her lips as she hesitated for just a mere moment before she took his hand and shook it. His skin was cold but soft. Up to the point it had sent a shiver down her spine. Maybe it was from the contact with his cold hand, or maybe it had been because of the odd unreadable look he was giving her. _There had to be something behind that look_.

“Professor Dippet would like your lesson plans for her at your earliest convenience, but as for now, I trust that as Head Boy, you know how to make a new student feel welcome at home?” Dumbledore asked. Hermione's head turned and she looked at Dumbledore as he looked over his glasses at Tom, as if giving him a silent warning.

Tom promptly nodded his head. “Yes sir.”

Dumbledore nodded his head and Hermione's eyes landed back on Tom.

“Now,” started Dumbledore as he turned to look down at Hermione. “You're more than five years behind on proper schooling. So Tom here has agreed to help get you caught up as soon as possible,” he explained as he clasped his hands before him.

Hermione sucked in a nervous, shaky breath as she nodded her head in understanding. Five years in one year sounded like something of a trouble when she really thought about it.

“And what house has she been sorted into?” Tom asked as Dumbledore turned his body as if ready to walk away from the two and let Hermione fend for herself in a room filled with strangers and a _Head Boy_ with something twisted about his air.

“Slytherin. Make sure you show her around this weekend. Dippet will spend the next few weeks creating a schedule for her for when she can join the other students of her year.”

Hermione watched as Tom's eyebrows softly lifted with a mild mix of surprise and sarcasm. “Lovely,” he commented almost too smoothly. His eyes moved to Hermione and she furrowed her eyebrows at him slightly, confused on how to read such a boy.

“Thank you, Tom. Now, Hermione,” started Dumbledore. She focused her eyes on the man and she raised her chin a bit to look up at him, “if you ever need help with _anything_ , you come to me, or Tom here. Understand?”

Hermione nodded, understanding with crystal clarity. And with that, Dumbledore was gone, heading out of the Great Hall as the large doors closed behind him soundlessly.

Hermione took a moment, staring at the closed doors before she returned her attention to Tom, who was watching her rather carefully, studying her. His intrusive eyes made her skin crawl and she frowned at him.

“This way to the Slytherin's table. You're lucky it's the weekend, you know,” he said as he turned his back to her and began walking to the farthest table on the left of the room. “It gives us plenty of time to attempt at getting first year lessons down by Monday,” Tom finished as he walked down the aisle between the table and the wall of the Great Hall, motioning towards an empty space between a group of people who were either talking away to their friends or too tired to even notice her.

Hermione sat down in the space and Tom walked away from her. For a moment, she had thought he had abandoned her as Dumbledore had, feeling eyes start to wonder to her, before she found him sitting down across the way.

“Avery, Marcilla, this is the new student – Hermione Granger,” Tom called out. Two girls sitting to the left of Tom stopped talking and turned to look at her.

The girl sitting right next to Tom had blonde hair and strikingly beautiful features including harsh brown eyes and bright red lips. She held her hand out to Hermione over the platters of breakfast food and gave her a friendly smile. “I'm Avery, Avery Menlane and this here is Marcilla Brirestib,” Avery said as she pointed to the girl beside her who had prominent green eyes, ivory skin, and pitch black hair held in short, simple curls. She waved at Hermione and mouthed a 'hi'.

All Hermione felt she could do was smile, acknowledging the girls with a nod of her head.

“Not the talker, are you?” Marcilla asked with curiosity. Her eyes studied Hermione and she felt as if she could see right through her.

It felt odd for Hermione. It was as if what Marcilla asked, which had felt more than a statement than a question, was something against Hermione's nature. Quiet? She felt as if she should be speaking, asking question, wanting to get to know the two girls that were a part of her new “family”, but at the same time she felt more weak and scared, alone and confused to even care enough to speak. Quietness covered her in a protective blanket and she had just assumed it had been because her body and mind recognized her vocal chords were still finishing with being healed completely. She was more afraid of screwing something up with her healing vocal chords if anything, no matter how little the odds were of that happening.

“Brirestib, leave Miss Granger alone. You're making her feel uncomfortable. After all, it's her first day here,” Tom said as he filled his plate and soon pushed it over to Hermione. It contained eggs, toast, and bacon. Her eyes moved to Tom with question. A command sat in his eyes, “ _Eat._ ”

“I trust you girls will be aright sharing your dorm room with her,” he said next, his eyes never leaving Hermione's. “Yours is the only one with room left, after all.”

In the corner of Hermione's eye the two girls looked to each other with excitement at the news.

“We'd love to share our room with her! This is so exciting!” exclaimed Avery with a little too much excitement, as if it just weren't natural for Slytherin. But then again, how would Hermione know that?

An assumption, most likely.

Marcilla rolled her eyes at her friend. “Blood hell, Avery,” she grumbled as she stuffed her mouth with two cut pieces of sausage while Avery turned her head to give Marcilla a questioning look. “She's just a girl who's going to share our dorm room with us. We've had others before,” Marcilla finished after gulping, reaching for her goblet.

Avery fell silent instantly, turning back to look at Hermione. She gave her a small, warm, apologetic smile before she returned to her breakfast. Tom gazed up between the three girls before turning his attention to a paper that appeared in his hand reading “Daily Prophet”.

Hermione glanced at it, seeing that today's date read _October 1, 1942_.

At reading that date, a rush of panic ran through Hermione's veins out of nowhere, unable to comprehend as to why. She blinked staring down at the plate of steaming food Tom had previously pushed to her. She uneasily looked at the food and grabbed the fork nearest to her.

She felt contemplative, hungry after haven't eaten for what had felt like a _very_ long time as she grabbed a forkful of scrambled egg and diced ham, putting it to her mouth. Her hunger awakened, but the panic she had previously felt made her feel queasy. She ate slowly in fear of throwing up her food should she eat too quickly.

While feeling Tom’s eyes on her every once in a while, Hermione pecked at her food and wondered how long she’d feel this terrible way.


	3. The Library

In Hermione's lap sat a large bundle, a parcel wrapped in thin brown paper and a green ribbon that reminded her of her house. She stared down at it after Dumbledore had handed it to her. The parcel held her new school uniforms.

Frantically, she looked up between Dumbledore and Dippet, who stood before her in the firelight glowing near the corner of Dippet's office. “How can I pay you back for this?” she asked them quietly. Her voice was scratchy and weak as her throat was just getting back in the swing of talking.

Dippet, who had been watching her warily, let out a warm chuckle that for one moment, relaxed Hermione. “Don't worry, Miss Granger. I have that all sorted out. I paid for them myself, you see. Education is _important_ , rules as well, such as dress code.”

Suddenly, Dippet's eyes fell beyond Hermione and his eyebrows widened with a happy surprise. “Right on time, Tom!”

The very sound of his name made her jump slightly as she turned her head anxiously and saw him walking towards them with quick strides and his head held high as if he ruled over the entire place. In a way, it disgusted Hermione, and made her sneer at him with how there could be someone with such an arrogant air about them here in this place. Dumbledore said this was supposed to be her _home,_ and to be quite honest, the idea of sharing it with him made her feel a burst of violent anger in her chest.

Had he done anything to her? No, of course not. She had only just met him. So why exactly was she feeling all this rage and disgust? Just looking at him made her jaw clench. All the range of random emotions caused her head to ache and she frowned, looking down at the stone floor with a soft, defeated sigh.

With an elegant, pale hand, Tom outstretched a piece of rolled-up parchment to Dippet. “I've written out the lesson plans I've created for Miss Granger, as asked for, sir.”

“Capital work, Tom,” Dippet said with an approving nod, taking the parchment and motioning it towards Hermione. “When do you plan to start?”

Hermione’s eyes fixed on Tom as he raised his eyebrows slightly at her, his face rather vacant of any expression.

“As soon as possible, sir,” was Tom’s answer, still looking back at Hermione.

“Perfect.” Dippet nodded once more and looked over at Dumbledore, sharing an approving look.

Dippet leaned off to the side to speak quietly to Dumbledore, giving Tom time to speak with Hermione himself.

“We can head to the library then. I can only hope get first year Transfigurations out of the way by lunch.” There was a hint of coldness in his voice and it made her feel all the more uncomfortable.

All she could manage was a simple nod.

“I can show Hermione to the library and start on Transfigurations if you’d like,” Tom then spoke to the two older men.

Dippet and Dumbledore turned their heads and looked at Tom and Hermione. They both nodded their head in unison.

“You two may be excused then,” said Dippet cheerily.

Tom motioned his head to the exit out of the office. “This way to the library then, Miss Granger.”

Without a word, Hermione got to her feet and hugged her parcel to her chest, following Tom with one glace at Dumbledore. Curiosity sparkled in his eyes and he nodded his head in encouragement, almost a silent push for her to try and feel at ease.

* * *

The library of Hogwarts wasn’t what Hermione had first imagined when she had heard of it. For one, her eyes widened and her breath caught the moment they entered through the double doors and into the library because it was so _vast_ , filled with books upon books stretching up to the high ceiling and into the darkness near the back of the library, making her wonder just how far the library stretched.

A few fifth year girls wearing yellow and black ties were giggling as they walked to a table with stacks of books in their arms. They sat down and spared a few glances towards Tom before they opened their books and minded their own business. A boy wearing a red and golden tie stood alone before a row of books, looking worried and frustrated as a book from the very top shelf safely floated down towards him. A small girl wearing a blue and silver tie was sitting at a small table by one of the windows in the nearest aisle to Tom and Hermione, reading with eased concentration in comfort.

Judging by just how large the library was and the time of day, it was evident that not many students visited often.

“This way,” she heard Tom murmur, turning her body towards him as she followed him down an aisle until he stopped at a section out of anyone's hearing range.

Tom had chosen a space between two rows of books where an empty table sat with four lonely chairs and a few floating candlesticks. It was quiet and dark with just enough light for reading.

Out of nowhere, a surge of panic hit Hermione as her heart sped back up, beating heavier and heavier until she began fearing Tom could hear it.

“This should be quiet enough,” Tom said as he sat down at a table over by the wall, right beneath a tall, thin window that began at Hermione's shoulders.

From underneath his robes, he produced a stack of papers and a book, setting them down as he motioned to the empty seat across from him. “Sit. The quicker we get this started, the sooner it will be over.” He turned each page, as if searching for something specific as she slowly lowered herself into the seat directly across him.

She eyed the book Tom had recently put down, reading the old cover and for a moment, she forgot she was feeling frightful. She must have liked books. It must have been the only reason she forgot her discomfort and a bold question blurted from her.

“Are all Head Boys and Head Girls stuffy?”

Tom froze, blinking down at the book before he looked up at Hermione with a curious but unfriendly look. His lips curled up, sinister. “So she speaks.”

Tom pushed parchment and a quill with a matching ink well towards her, outstretching the book to her. “Read the chapter and I expect to see some useful notes. It shouldn’t take you long.”

Hermione scowled softly towards him, huffing a sigh as she took the book and skimmed through the chapter to see just how much she had to read through. _Chapter nine?_

“We’re not starting from the beginning?” she asked before she began.

“I’m going to be teaching you only what’s necessary. Now if you would please, I have homework to do,” Tom said, coldly as ever, as he took out his own parchment that was half written on. He bent over it and continued on it with his own quill.

It felt like hours had gone by when Hermione had managed to read through the chapter and finished with her notes, finding herself filled with an odd feeling. It was almost as if she had read that chapter before. A sense of déjà vu clouded her head and she looked over at Tom.

When he didn’t look up from his set of parchment, she pushed the book back over towards him, causing him to pause and then look up at her with a disdained look. Carefully, he sat his quill down and then practically tore the parchment from Hermione’s hands, his grey eyes skimming over it quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to learn that so quickly. These notes will be useful when I teach you second year Transfigurations, so I suggest you don’t lose them,” he said as he handed the parchment back over to her.

Without realizing it, Hermione rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom froze and gave her a cold look. “Don’t ever roll your eyes at me again,” he said carefully and slowly. The chill in his eyes sent an indescribable fear through Hermione. “As Head Boy, you _will_ show me respect,” he demanded quietly.

“For someone who demands respect, you’re rather rude,” Hermione said with a scoff, causing Tom’s dark eyebrows to rise dangerously.

She immediately regretted what she had said when she watched Tom snap. He slammed his hands down on the table, causing Hermione to jump. Her eyes slightly widened when he rose to his feet. _He has a rather short temper…_

Tom moved around the table slowly, almost like a snake as he rested his hand on the table in front of her and leaned down to her level, merely inches away from her face as he glared right into her.

“Listen closely, _Mudblood._ I am to be respected.”

_Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood…_

There was something about the world that sent a jolt of gut-wrenching pain and sadness through her, but she dared to let it show as she continued to look up at Tom, resting her eyebrows into an infuriated furrow.

“I don’t care where you come from, how injured you were just a few days ago, or how much the professors like you. I expect that you would at least be smart about what you say to me. I can make your life a living hell if I have to.” His voice was low, his breath brushing across her face in a rush of mint and vanilla.

Was it possible for someone so easy to dislike to smell so good?

There in the candlelight, with a lock of his wavy hair fallen to his forehead from the exertion of his tantrum, Hermione saw just how handsome Tom Riddle was. Maybe it was the way his black waves fell against his temples, or the perfection of his ivory skin. Perhaps it was even the way his lips were formed into a scowl, which looked to have been something he wore so often that it seemed to have been a permanent part of his facial features.

Or maybe Hermione was too tired and exhausted mentally from all that was going on to even think straight.

Hermione’s mind swung back into reality and she watched Tom smirk evilly down at her, as if he knew something she didn’t and was relishing in the knowledge.

Suddenly, he pushed himself off of the desk and leaned over, beginning to gather up the parchment and books he had placed on the table that was used between the two of them.

“It’s nearly noon. We’re going to head to lunch. You might want to change into your uniform first, however.”

Without waiting for Hermione, he headed towards the direction of the library they came from, as if expecting her to follow him like some obedient dog. Hermione glared at the back of his head, clutching her parcel as she got to her feet and stalked after Tom.


	4. Dreaming

Hermione had somehow imagined the Slytherin common room to be up in one of the towers and not down some flights of stairs in a dungeon-like area. The room was large, comfortable, regal, furnished with dark sofas and armchairs decorated in ornate green cushions. A roaring fireplace sat at the opposite side of the room, the windows tinted by the murky green lake that surrounded one side of Hogwarts. The stone tiled floors brought a chilling effect to the room, making Hermione wrap her arms around herself and causing her parcel to crinkle slightly. It was an impressive atmosphere and she couldn’t believe that this was hers to live in.

As Hermione stood at the entrance quietly, looking around at the place, her ears picked up the sound of the lake on the other side of the windows, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room to catch a glimpse of fish passing by one of the windows. Stone pillars separated the entrance area from the common room.

Tom allowed her a moment to soak it all up before he began walking ahead of her, letting out a simple sigh.

“Boy’s dormitory,” Tom started as he pointed to the stairs on Hermione’s left. “And then girl’s,” he said, pointing to the set to the right.

For a moment, Hermione felt out of her element here, like she didn’t belong here, specifically. Somehow, she was thinking of red cushioned sofas and a tower for a common room. Not this.

“Hermione!” came a female voice from over near the fire.

She looked over to catch a glimpse of Avery and Marcilla working on their homework.

“I have some business to attend to, if you two wouldn’t mind giving Hermione a tour of the common room,” said Tom as he leaned against one of the stone pillars, looking over at Hermione. “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for lunch,” he said before pushing off of the pillar and heading up the steps that led out of the common room and out to the hallway.

“Well, come on then,” said Avery as her and Marcilla got to their feet, hurrying over to Hermione as they grabbed her arms gently and urged her towards the stairs leading down into the girl’s dormitories.

The room that the two girls had led Hermione into was a room filled with four beds looking far too decorative to Hermione to be something to sleep in. Her eyes stopped on a silver and dark ebony chest at the foot at one of the beds, spelling out her name in fancy silver lettering. That must have been her bed.

The room was surrounded in windows looking out into the same lake, only slightly darker with how much deeper they were under the water now.

“What do you think?” asked Marcilla as she plopped down onto her own bed, Avery walking over to lean against one of Marcilla’s bed posts.

Hermione walked over to the side of her bed quietly, gingerly setting her parcel down as she began unwrapping it to reveal the same of what Avery and Marcilla were wearing – a long gray pleated skirt, a grey sleeveless jumper with the Slytherin crest at the top left hand corner, knee-high socks, brand new simple black shoes, a white oxford for beneath the jumper, a silver and green scarf, and a selection of a buttoned gray jumper for the winter or a set of simple black robes. The entire outfit felt a lot to take in, and Hermione felt a pang of guilt with just imagining what it must have cost Dippet to buy all of the items.

Why was he being so kind to her?

“Well, we’ll leave you to change. We’ll wait for you out in the common room whenever you’re ready to head up for lunch,” said Avery as Marcilla smiled and hopped up to her feet, following Avery out the wooden door.

When the door shut behind the two girls, Hermione let out a breath. She was finally alone. She sat down on her bed, testing the comfort before she reached a hand out and ran her hand over the expensive-looking green bedspread. Looking down at her worn clothing, she managed to begin with undressing herself before she pulled on the Hogwarts uniform. She was looking around her part of the room, somehow searching for something when her eyes caught sight of a wand sitting on a small bedside table. For some reason, she knew it was hers.

She eventually walked over to floor-length mirror that sat in the corner of the room closest to the door, looking at herself in the mirror. Before she realized what she was doing, she moved her wand in a small circular, zigzag motion towards her head and her mangled brown hair was untangled and tamed. She froze when she realized what she had just done. How had she known to do that?

She looked over at the wand in her hand, her eyebrows pushed together before she looked back at herself in the mirror. A pair of frightened, brown, sunken-in eyes stared back at her.

Avery and Marcilla were giggling over something by one of the sofas closest to the exit when Hermione cleared her throat after reaching the top of the stone stairs. The girls looked over and both grinned excitedly.

“You look better,” said Avery with her eyebrows risen, impressed.

Hermione rose a hand and clamped it around her opposite elbow, feeling awkward and shy, uncomfortable still.

“I’m actually quite tired.”

The girls exchanged a glance.

“Are you okay?” Avery asked with sudden worry.

“Do you want us to get Pomfrey?”

Hermione shook her head immediately. “No. I think I just need a small nap.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll wake you for supper?” asked Marcilla.

Hermione forced a small, encouraging smile. “Yes, please.”

The girls turned around after wishing Hermione hopes of feeling better, leaving her in the empty Slytherin dungeon as they headed off to join the rest of the school for lunch.

She eventually headed back down the stairs to her room where she neatly folded her extra and old clothing and placed them over on top of the trunk sitting at the foot of her bed. She pulled back the covers of the bed, revealing crisp-clean light grey sheets. She crawled beneath them, covering herself up with the blankets almost like a cocoon. She listened to the sound of the lake outside the windows as her eyes began to droop and she had found sleep.

* * *

 

_A golden Time Turner was spinning. Round and round it went, the sand inside of it struggling to keep up. The background was a faded motion of blur, confusing Hermione. She was floating, a sick feeling in her stomach, as she tried to reach out and grab onto the necklace and stop it. Suddenly, a white light came upon both her and the necklace, growing until it blinded her and all she could sense was the terrible pain she was in until it was so unbearable she had lost consciousness._

Hermione sat up in her bed, sweaty and her breath ragged. She blinked, looking around to get a grasp of her surroundings. She was safe and sound in her new Slytherin dormitory. No pain, no spinning hourglass necklace.

Just then, the door to the room opened, Marcilla poking her head through.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. Have you been asleep this entire time?” She sighed and opened the door more to reveal her lanky body resting against the door frame.

“We’re headed down for supper and Tom is asking about you.”

Hermione let out a breath. “Sorry, I’m coming,” she said as she kicked the covers off of herself, grabbing her wand to bury in her sweater pocket. A chill came over her from the sweaty nap and somehow she knew how to charm herself to be clean again in the time it took her to get her feet to the stone cold floor.

Hermione followed Marcilla up the stairs to see more people than earlier in the common room. Some were gathering their books together from one of the round tables, talking about not wanting to miss salad. And then there was a small cluster of students over by the fireplace, which had been where Tom and Avery stood.

Tom was staring at the fireplace, his forearm holding his weight against the mantle. His other hand was clenched into a tight fist at his waist, looking displeased.

“...Slughorn wouldn’t allow it, I’m sure,” said Avery as Hermione and Marcilla walked over to them.

A few other students were sitting on the sofa facing the fireplace, watching Tom carefully as if waiting for him before they headed for the Great Hall.

“It doesn’t matter if he’d allow it or not. What matters is-” he cut his words off when he turned his head and looked at Hermione.

His jaw clenched as his eyes scanned over her from head to toe, taking in her new Slytherin look. He soon look back at the fireplace and sighed as Hermione wondered what they had been talking about.

“Let’s go to supper. I’m hungry,” Tom sneered as he pushed off of the mantle and headed for the stairs leading up to the exit out of the Slytherin common room.

Hermione, Avery, Marcilla, and the others followed after Tom without a word.

They were headed down a few hallways when Tom somehow made it to Hermione’s side, coming up along side of her as they all walked at a simple pace.

“I trust you slept well?” Tom asked her.

Hermione looked at him for a moment and then away towards the stairs that led directly up to the Great Hall. She could already catch a whiff of the chicken and various other foods she was trying to put her finger on. It made her stomach grumble, cursing at her for skipping lunch.

“Quite well, thank you.”

“Since you’re rested up, I trust you wouldn’t mind a small tour of the castle before bed?”

“I suppose,” Hermione responded.

They exchanged a quick glance before they entered in through the Great Hall.

Hermione ended up sitting in between Avery and Marcilla across the way from Tom and his other friends. The entire Great Hall was filled with students ready for dinner at each House table. The appetizers had started before the main course, their way of waiting for everyone to be present so that they didn’t miss out on any main supper, most likely. Hermione still felt uneasy. Everyone was chatting over rolls and salad while Tom across from her was sipping generously from a goblet. They locked eyes and she felt herself flush, looking away from him and down at her plate of salad from which she had yet to eat.

“Tom tells me you're a quick learner. Does that mean we’ll get to see you in class with us soon?” Avery said with excitement, giving Hermione a friendly smile.

Hermione watched Marcilla roll her eyes at her friend. “Bloody hell, you’re so nosy, Avery,” she murmured under her breath. “I have to admit,” she then said, speaking up, “It’s still a little weird what circumstances we’re all under now thanks to you.”

Hermione pulled her eyebrows together, looking to Avery. “What does she mean?”

Tom was carefully putting together his bowl of salad when he spoke, catching Hermione’s attention. “You weren’t here. During Lunch, Headmaster Dippet announced that we’re all under strict curfew and that no one is allowed outside of castle grounds without an escort until they figured out why you were found injured.” He then looked up and met eyes with Hermione.

There was a strange sound, and then the salad plates disappeared, replaced with dinner food on platters in the middle of the table. Mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, turkey, chicken…

Hermione began filling her plate with small portions of almost any food in reach to start off with.

“Tom also says that you two will be studying more after. Do you think you’ll get first year courses out of the way?” Avery asked next.

_She sure does ask a lot of questions_. “Do you talk to Tom often?” There was something in Hermione’s voice that implied that she was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable under all the questioning.

Avery’s face flushed as she swallowed a bite of mashed potatoes she had just tested. She covered her mouth and looked down at her plate. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Avery’s just intrusive,” Marcilla said in a bored voice. “Tom talks to us a lot because we all grew up together.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side as she poured gravy into the mashed potatoes on her plate, a question on her face.

“We all go to the same orphanage,” Avery then said before pausing.

_Tom’s an orphan? How sad_ , Hermione thought as she looked up to see Tom giving Avery a furious warning look. His eyes had darkened and his jaw was set tight, his hand paused on his fork.

Internally, Hermione smiled for some odd reason, but soon that smile faded. Maybe that explained Tom’s bitterness and short-temper. Maybe that was why he was so unfriendly and cold. Everything about him screamed to Hermione that he was filled with hate. Maybe it was backed up by pain?

She looked down at her plate, letting out a soft breath as she reached out and grabbed her goblet. Suddenly, she realized how thirsty she was as she brought it to her lips. It smelled like some type of juice. Sweet and strange. She tilted it slightly to try a sip of it, finding a sweet, cold pumpkin flavor wash over her tongue and to the back of her throat.

_Pumpkin juice._

It tasted familiar. Its sweet contents suddenly sparked a strange picture in her mind.

_Hermione must have been eleven or twelve, in the colors red and gold instead of silver and green. She was laughing with a boy who had red hair, freckles, and a mouth stuffed with food and a boy with jet black hair, glasses, and a strange-looking lightning scar on his forehead. She was **happy** as she put her goblet to her lips, saying something about how she loved “Pumpkin Juice”._

_Gryffindor?_

Hermione blinked when she heard someone calling her name.

“Hermione, you alright?” asked Avery with concern and a mouth full of food.

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed and she focused on Avery. “I’m fine, thanks,” she said softly.

Avery paused her chewing for a moment, furrowing her eyebrows together. “Still not feeling well?” she inquired.

“Quite fine, actually,” Hermione said as she looked down at her food and began to eat. In fact, she felt better.

Hopefully it was a memory, which meant she had a chance at regaining knowledge of who she really was. There was simply no other explanation for it.

However, she fell oblivious to Tom’s curious gaze as he watched her.

* * *

 

Hermione managed to find her way back to the library after dinner, skipping any interaction with Tom after escaping into the horde of students that all left the Great Hall practically at once. She wouldn’t be surprised if he found her there as that was where she knew she’d be doing her classwork from now on. She no longer wanted a tour that night.

Passing through the large wooden doors and into the large room that smelled of old books, Hermione felt a weight get lifted from her shoulders. She greeted the librarian, who was struggling with a young Hufflepuff at one small section of books near the doors.

Here, she felt _at home_. And then, the crippling urge to read something empowered her body.

Her hands trailed along the ribbed and rough spines of the books in the Muggle section, seeing various novels by writers such as Hemingway, Austen, Brontë, Fitzgerald… She pulled out _Pride and Prejudice_ and found an empty table in a corner where she was less likely to be bothered. She found an old leather armchair and curled up in it, which sat near a tall window and a small round table with a few chairs around it. She rested her head against the pane as she read, feeling its cold surface almost comforting to her forehead.

No matter how much she tried to focus on reading the worn book in her hand, she couldn’t. Her brain wouldn’t shut off. She thought about how she came to be here at Hogwarts. Did she have a family? Was she an orphan like Tom and the others? Had something happened to her, magically?

The unanswered questions were a plague.

And what about the odd feeling she had when she had her first lesson with Tom, about feeling as if she had already known that chapter of Transfigurations he had her go over?

Hermione closed the book, finding it to be a waste since she had clearly begun to struggle with the attention needed to read. It was her second, maybe even her third day here at Hogwarts and already, it felt as if she had been here all her life.

“I’d been looking for you,” came a familiar cold voice. “Don’t you want a tour?”

Hermione froze and looked up to find Tom Riddle leaning against the end of the book case at the start of the aisle she had settled in, his arms crossed and looking at her with a rather annoyed and bored expression. He wasn’t wearing his robes anymore, but had his sleeveless jumper and the rest of his uniform on. His white oxford was rolled up at the sleeves, allowing Hermione view of his dominant forearm muscles. She felt her breath catch in her throat when she realized she had been staring.

“Not tonight, I’m tired.”

Tom nodded his head. “We can pick up where we left off and get Charms out of the way before bed then,” Tom said as he began walking towards her, burying his hands in his pockets. “With how late it is, I’d prefer we do it in the common room.”

Hermione’s eyes found his, now glaring at him softly. “I’m tired. Can’t we pick it up tomorrow?” she asked as she got to her feet and went to put the book back where she had found it.

“Really now?” Tom grabbed the book from her hands to study the cover and spine. “Never expected you to be a reader.”

Hermione pulled the book out of his hands with a slight roll of her eyes and shoved it back in its place among the other Muggle author books.

“I think I like reading,” she said as she turned back around to face Tom only to find him close to her.

It felt as if he were too close for comfort.

In a low voice and a dangerously angered expression, “What did I tell you about rolling your eyes at me? Are you too thick to understand that I’m to be _respected_?” he asked slowly.

Hermione felt the color drain from her face, backing up with every step he took towards her until she felt the edge of a table dig into her backside. She found herself rising her chin defiantly, feeling defensive now that she was being cornered.

“You are to learn your place, regardless of the fact that you’re in the same house as I,” he grumbled, low enough as to not attract any attention nearby.

She felt as if the bookcases were closing in on her and she found herself beginning to struggle with her breath until she put her hands on his chest and with all of her strength, pushed him away from her. Tom immediately staggered backwards without expecting her to even do that.

Her face heated up and she furrowed her eyebrows harshly together. “How _dare_ you corner me with your threats,” she hissed at him. She was feeling so much at once, and it was beginning to make her head spin.

Threatened, terrified, offended, cornered, confused, lost…

“For someone who’s Head Boy, you _sure_ know how to make a new student feel _right_ at home,” she said as she glared up at him as bitterly as she could.

Tom was silent, but he looked infuriated with darkened eyes and such a sneer he looked almost like a spoiled little child who had just lost at getting his way. And then his face slowly turned into a small smirk.

A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine. She found him unpredictable and intimidating that she wondered if she would forever feel this terrified of him. “For someone who comes off as a quiet girl, you sure seem as if you have a lot to say,” he said in a low, dangerously calm voice.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “That’s it, I’m going to the Headmaster. I need someone else to tutor me,” Hermione said angrily as she moved past him only to find him reaching out to grab onto her wrist, stopping her. If his hold on her wasn’t as gentle as it was, she would have screamed at him and drawn her wand right there on the spot.

“Don’t,” said Tom.

Hermione turned her fiery eyes to Tom.

“Forgive me...Miss Granger...” Tom looked away, seemingly awkward and out of element to say ‘forgive me’.

Hermione took in a sharp breath and held it.

“Look, the sooner we get this tutoring thing done with, the less you’ll have to see me, understand? I’m the best in this school. Only I know how to tutor you at best and the quickest. With any other student, you’d be stuck in tutoring for _months_ ,” Tom explained to her quickly.

Hermione hesitated before she let out an annoyed breath and pulled her wrist from his grip. “Fine,” she said stiffly.

Somehow she found herself unable to doubt his boasting at being the best. After all, the people she trusted most here were Pomfrey, Dippet, and Dumbledore. If they were eager to have Tom tutor her, then she could only assume he really was the best.

Tom straightened up. “Very well then. As for tonight I’ll let you rest up. Tomorrow I’d like to get some tutoring out of the way during my free period and after my last class. We can get through Charms and Potions tomorrow and if you’re feeling up to it after supper, we can do a grounds tour.”

“Fine,” Hermione said again, pushing past him as she headed for the exit.

She now felt so exhausted that she knew she’d be able to sleep once she’d curl up in bed.


	5. Mudblood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank you for those who've been patiently waiting for this chapter. I ran into some difficulties between getting sick (I know, you think being bedridden would make writing so much easier, but being sick takes a lot out of my creativity, unfortunately), and then my internet getting pulled down for a bit (curse you, AT&T). But here's chapter five and while I'm excited to give you guys it, I'd like to apologize ahead of time. I ran into a plot problem with the revision just for the second half of this chapter. Regardless, I hope you guys enjoy.

Avery and Marcilla were digging something from their trunks when Hermione entered into the dorm room. A fireplace was lit at one end of the room, filling the air with a comfortable crackling noise and the smell that made Hermione feel more at home than she felt this entire time since her injury.

"Good, you're here," said Marcilla as she opened Hermione trunk, reached in, and pulled out a Slytherin towel.

She tossed it Hermione's way and luckily, she was able to catch it.

"How does a nice bath sound?" Avery asked as she pulled her own towel out from her trunk and draped it over her arm.

Hermione felt herself smile softly. "That sounds wonderful," she replied.

The girl's Slytherin bathroom was vast and glorified with dark marble walls and floors, along with a large green-tinted marble bath tub-like pool. Along one wall sat five showers curtained with dark green fabric. The other wall at a folded-like mirror standing from the floor, facing a set of chairs. Extra towels sat in shelf-like spaces built into the empty wall to the right of the entrance.

The smell of fresh soap hung in the warm air, girls giggling over various things from the showers and as they came out of the large bath.

Just by standing in the doorway of the bathroom, Hermione could feel her skin itch for a warm, clean wash.

"We usually come this late. That's when everyone's usually just getting ready for bed," said Marcilla as she led Avery and Hermione over to a cushioned bench where she sat down and began undressing, using her wand to fold her clothing into a neat pile. Avery eventually sat down next to her and followed. Hermione watched them for a bit before she decided to sit down and follow as well.

The bathroom was growing quieter now as the last of the girls that were within it began piling out to get ready for bed, waving silently to the three on the bench as a friendly gesture.

"If I sit down in that bath, I'm afraid I'll pass out," said Avery as she got up with her towel wrapped around her and headed for one of the shower stalls.

"Me too. Hermione, will you be okay on your own?" Marcilla asked.

Hermione nodded her head. "I think I'll manage," she said softly.

She pulled off her bra and managed to pull her hair up into a messy up-do before she got to her feet and walked over to the bath where she stepped into the steaming, soapy water. She felt herself sink down into the calming depths, her eyes falling shut. Fresh soap and a wash cloth laid near her and she grabbed it, beginning to wash herself.

That was when she noticed something alarming.

Scarred and months old, "Mudblood" was carved into the skin of her right forearm. She put her fingers to it, seeing if it stung. The carving had molded to her skin. Permanent and _there_. Red flags were raised in Hermione's mind. What did Mudblood mean? And whatever it meant, it had to have been bad. It wasn't a tattoo, it was something that must have been forced upon her. Her heart raced against her rib cage and she looked around the bathroom. Marcilla and Avery were talking about something over the rushing sounds of the shower heads.

Suddenly feeling a bubble of shame rise up her throat, she hid her arm beneath the murky-white, soapy water. Trying not to think about the scar any longer, she continued to wash herself with shaking hands.

* * *

 

It had taken hours upon hours trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Hermione had tossed and turned in her Slytherin bed to the faint and easy breaths of Avery and Marcilla, who were very much asleep and comfortable in their own beds. By the time Hermione _had_ fallen asleep, her heart was filled with frustration and loneliness. She didn't have a single friend here at Hogwarts. She didn't dare to call Tom anything close to a friend and it felt almost as if Avery and Marcilla were just – well, _there_. She felt of something forced upon the two inseparable girls. Hermione was glad she at least had girls to hang around, but she didn't have someone she could find comfort in. She prayed to Merlin that it would get easier than this soon.

When she woke, it was with a rough jolt of her bed from a cranky-looking Marcilla. Avery was just coming in, pulling a brush through her hair and dressed for the day.

"Get up, Hermione. I doubt you'd want to miss breakfast," Marcilla said grumpily in a scratchy voice as she padded over to her trunk and pulled out her Slytherin uniform.

The weekend had ended, and everyone was going back to class, except for Hermione. Luckily, Tom had managed to get Transfigurations out of the way, leaving Hermione left to go over Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, and History of Magic. She wondered if he'd even teach her how to ride a broom, or at least help her remember. If she really was a witch, surely she'd know how to fly by now.

Hermione managed to sit up, her eyes heavy with the sleep she had lost to hours of tossing and turning. She could feel them before even needing to see them, the dark purple bags that were surely hanging beneath her eyes. She dragged herself out of the warm bed and proceeded to dress into her own uniform even though she still had some time before she could even go to class like everyone else.

Hermione finished getting ready along side of Marcilla, who was moving at a rather sluggish pace. She clearly wasn't any more of a morning person than how Hermione felt at that moment. After yanking her brush through her frizzy hair, she managed to tame it down and give it a simple braid at the back.

She walked with Marcilla and Avery up to the Great Hall, which was only half-filled, something she expected to happen most mornings, even Monday mornings specifically. Plates sat in the middle of the tables loaded with pancakes, toast, hash browns, eggs. People were grabbing their food with sleepy eyes, the Great Hall not filled with as much commotion as it usually had been during the times Hermione had joined them all at lunch and dinner.

Hermione sat down across from Tom, feeling like she was stuck to Avery and Marcilla's sides like glue. Tom was drinking a glass of orange juice, just looking up from his plate and at Hermione.

"I'm surprised you're up," he said blandly. There was a small pile of books next to him and he pushed them over to Hermione's side of the table. "These are books on History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'd like you to go over them today while I'm in class. You won't see me until noon back here for lunch," he said as he went back to eating his food.

Hermione looked down at the books. They were thick, old, and worn. For some reason, Hermione hadn't a doubt that they belonged to Tom. They looked like something from a secondhand story.

Tom pulled the History of Magic book off of the Defense Against the Dark Arts book, revealing a list on a piece of parchment paper. One hand pulled a piece of toast onto his plate, the other pointing at the list.

"Those are the chapters I want you to go over. The most important ones. And at the bottom, I'd like you to write two-page essays on those topics I've given you."

Hermione blinked down at the long list. How would she be able to get this all in by noon? It was 8:30AM as it was.

"Whether you're up to it or not, Professor Slughorn has allowed me after-hours access of his classroom so we could go over first year Potions. We could do that after dinner tonight, or do Charms. Either one you choose, the other will have to be dealt with tomorrow after dinner," he said.

How was he so awake, talking the way he was? He was precise.

He was handsome.

Hermione blinked and shook her head, looking down to the list one more time.

"Alright," was all she told him before stacking the books again and pushing them safely to the side as she piled food onto her plate and spent the rest of breakfast in silence.

After everyone had walked off to their morning classes, Hermione headed straight for the library after grabbing some parchment paper and her new quill from her trunk in the Slytherin dormitory. Burying herself in the books, she found herself feeling the same way she did when she read through that chapter for Transfigurations.

Nostalgia.

Before she knew it, the two-page essays on each chapter she had read flew by in a breeze to where the half hour before lunch when she was finished was spent reading over her essays for anything she might need to correct. Would they be good enough for Tom?

She somehow found herself worrying they wouldn't, but she managed to suck in a breath and muster up the courage to believe that he can think what he wants to. What matters was that she gave them her honest, best effort.

Noon struck and Hermione made her way to the Great Hall where Tom was just sitting down in his usual spot, talking to a blond-haired boy whom Hermione had heard rumors of being Abraxas Malfoy, Tom's close friend. Somehow, everytime she heard his name or even thought of it, it made her blood boil a little.

Hermione boldly took the seat next to Tom and pushed the books to him with her essays on top.

Tom paused, mid-conversation with Abraxas, before he turned around and looked at Hermione rather coldly.

"The essays, as you asked," she murmured as Tom looked to the pile. For a second, Tom raised an eyebrow, but his face turned back to stone as he accepted the pile and pulled it over to him.

The smell of sandwiches and salads filled the air and Hermione's stomach rumbled with a hunger.

Halfway through her lunch, Tom had finished his own and had given Hermione more books and more homework to deal with while he went to his afternoon and evening classes, promising her he'd meet her back there for dinner before he left to head to his next class.

Hermione stared down at the pile and sighed.

When dinner had arrived and Tom had sat down across from her as they piled their food in silence, Tom didn't even look at Hermione. There was a bite of anxiety in Hermione's chest as she contemplated speaking to him first or not.

"I have more homework than anticipated tonight. Potions will have to wait for tomorrow night," Tom told her as he slowly looked up to her from his plate of food.

Hermione nodded her head, understanding.

After dinner, Hermione had sauntered off to the bathroom, getting herself ready for a new bath after the main horde of girls had left. She undressed and sunk into the silence of the empty bathroom, sighing before she looked down at her arm.

Tears suddenly prickled at her eyes as a sudden, painful memory came forth in her mind.

_Hermione was pinned to the wooden floor of a manor, the sleeve of her jacket on her left arm pulled up. Pain was searing through her arm as a blade scratched against it, drawing blood and a permanent 'M'. She screamed, she tried to kick, she cried, she did whatever she could to try and break free from this torture, but nothing worked._ _The pain made her head spin and her stomach tumble into nauseating knots._ _The woman above her, a woman with wild black hair and dark, crazy eyes, smiled down at her, screaming words but they were muffled._

" _I don't know!" Hermione screamed._

_She was scared._

_Scared as fuck,_ _a_ _nd the pain was inevitable._

_She wanted it to end._

_She wished the woman would just kill her, just end her life then and there and make the pain stop. But it didn't until the carving into her skin had finished and Hermione was left laying on the floor, trying to find her breath and trying not to think about what had just been done to her._

Hermione wiped at her eyes and looked around the empty bathroom. She suddenly felt far more alone than ever.


End file.
